


moments in time

by indigo_stars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Slice of Life, Young James Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26105032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_stars/pseuds/indigo_stars
Summary: The first time Euphemia saw Fleamont Potter, she was twelve and he was a newly Sorted Gryffindor. He had the most bizarre and unruly hair Euphemia had ever seen. It stuck out at all angles, looking as if he'd never brushed it in his life.[or; Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, throughout life]
Relationships: Euphemia Potter & Fleamont Potter & James Potter, Euphemia Potter/Fleamont Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & James Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	moments in time

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to post something on ao3 but never had the courage to do so. now, thanks to the encouragement of a close friend, i got an account. 
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!

**1903**

In the early hours of a cold February morning, the cries of a newborn shook the small house of the Summerbees. Inside, an exhausted mother cradled her new daughter, while her husband looked on in pride, one hand resting on the shoulder of his son, who was nearly jumping up and down from excitement.

"Oh, can I hold her, Papa?" the little boy asked. "Can I?"

His father chuckled while his mother looked at him fondly, before patting the bed. Mr. Summerbee picked his son up gently and placed him on the bed next to his mother. The little boy held his arms out eagerly.

"Mind the head," chastised Mrs. Summerbee, as she placed the infant girl into her brother’s arms. His eyes lit up with delight. 

"She's so small," the little boy whispered in awe. Mrs. Summerbee shared an amused smile with her husband; their son was nearly five and wasn't much bigger than his little sister. Mr. Summerbee sat on the edge of the bed and placed his arms around his wife, his gaze never leaving his children.

"I want you to promise me something, Eddy. Can you promise me something?"

The little boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Papa!"

"You're a big brother now," Mr. Summerbee said seriously. "And that means you're going to need to take care and protect your sister. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Papa!" Eddy repeated, grinning toothily. "I'll keep Sissy safe!"

Mr. Summerbee nodded his approval. "Good lad," he said, ruffling Eddy's hair. Mrs. Summerbee was smiling fondly as her daughter began to stir.

Eddy looked alarmed when the baby began to fuss, causing Mrs. Summerbee to take the infant back into her arms, rocking her gently. Eddy moved closer. “Mama, what's Sissy gonna be called?"

"Euphemia, love," came the reply. "Our little Effie."

Sixteen months later, in the middle of a hot summer day, the Potters welcomed their newest member, Fleamont Henry Potter.

**1914**

At eleven years old, Euphemia Summerbee was already quite gifted. Her magical abilities manifested around the time she was two, which prompted her mother to burst into tears and her father to tell everyone at the Ministry how little Effie could already levitate a lamp.

Accidental magic was an everyday occurrence at the Summerbee household. There were explosions coming from Eddy's room and Euphemia could summon toys to her at will. According to her parents, Euphemia was a quiet, good-natured child who would rather pick up a book. In the rare occasion a tantrum would occur, glass would shatter and plates would break.

She was six when Eddy first went off to Hogwarts; she cried because her playmate was gone, but her father assured her that Eddy would be coming back for the holidays, and in a few short years, Euphemia herself would be going to Hogwarts as well. 

Which is where she was now, staring wide-eyed at the looming castle in front of her. When she and the other first years entered, Euphemia felt all the nerves that had been making her feel queasy vanish.

She knew about magic, she had done magic, but this was an entirely different level and Euphemia grinned until her cheeks hurt. She was ready to learn everything she could. Euphemia could barely contain her excitement when she placed the Sorting Hat on her head. 

The next morning, Euphemia wore the blue and bronze proudly, knowing she was exactly where she belonged.

**1915**

The first time Euphemia saw Fleamont Potter, she was twelve and he was a newly Sorted Gryffindor. He had the most bizarre and unruly hair Euphemia had ever seen. It stuck out at all angles, looking as if he’d never brushed it in his life. 

Eddy nudged her. "What're you staring at, Effie?"

Euphemia blinked, turning to her brother who was looking at her with amusement. Pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice, she muttered, "Nothing."

"You were staring at the Potter boy," said Quinlan Price, a Ravenclaw girl who was in the same year as Euphemia.

Eddy narrowed his eyes. "Were you now?"

Euphemia felt her face heat up. "He has a funny name!" she defended herself. "I was just wondering who would name their kid Fleamont, that's all."

Eddy turned his head back and forth between Euphemia and the Gryffindor table, before shrugging his shoulders and digging into his food. "That better be it," he said, and Euphemia rolled her eyes at her brother's antics. 

It wasn't like she was ever going to _talk_ to Fleamont Potter.

**1917**

Euphemia's first interaction with Fleamont Potter happened the day after the first Quidditch match of the year. She was fourteen years old, somewhat of a Transfiguration and Charms prodigy, and, after failing to get the spot the previous year, had secured the position of Keeper for Ravenclaw.

She'd immediately written to Eddy, who was now working at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as well as her parents. All of them sent letters back beaming with praise (and on Eddy’s end, some complaints about how the Ministry wasn't allowing wizards to help with the Muggle's World War).

The first match of the season was Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor. It brought a lot of excitement from the students and staff. The game itself was a very close one, the final score being 210-200 in favor of Ravenclaw.

Euphemia was in the library, looking over her Potions homework, when a large book was dropped on the desk she was currently residing at. Startled, Euphemia looked up to see Fleamont Potter angrily staring at her.

"You should make more of an effort to be quiet," Euphemia said, irate. "For Merlin's sake, you're in the library. And you shouldn't shock someone like that, it's quite rude."

"I don’t give a damn, Summerbee," Fleamont Potter snapped. "Your team is a bunch of cheats."

Euphemia stared at him. Annoyance was slowly beginning to build up, and she closed her Potions book, resting her arms on it. 

"I beg your pardon," she finally said. "A bunch of cheats? You Gryffindors were the ones that kept fouling and you shouldn't be blaming me or anyone from Ravenclaw when your team obviously doesn't know the rules of the game."

Fleamont Potter’s cheeks were red. "You kept blocking my attempts to score."

"And that’s a problem?" Euphemia asked waspishly. "That's what Keepers do, Potter; they try to stop the other team from scoring. Maybe you just have lousy aim."

Fleamont Potter stood there, mouth agape. He was speechless, Euphemia noted with some satisfaction. Maybe she'd teach him some humility and — and — the Gryffindor was making his way around the table, his stormy gaze on her, until his nose was just centimeters away from hers. Euphemia instinctively moved her chair back, cheeks heating up.

"Potter," she said, trying to control her temper, "what do you think you're doing? Haven't your parents ever taught you about personal space? Because—"

"Your homework's wrong," he interrupted, and it was Euphemia's turn to stare at him.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, her voice an octave higher.

"Your homework," Fleamont Potter repeated. "If you want to get an Acceptable, then leave your essay as it is. If you want it to be exceptional, then it should be four beetles instead of three, and crushed instead of cut."

Then he turned his heel and left the library, leaving Euphemia dumbfounded.

**1918**

Euphemia was fifteen when she opened her Hogwarts letter and a Prefect badge fell out. She let out an excited squeal, and immediately fastened it onto her school robes. Her father beamed at her and her mother gave her a hug. For this achievement, her parents took Euphemia to Diagon Alley, where they bought her the newest model broom. 

Euphemia took her Prefect duties seriously, making sure the first years knew the rules and was not afraid to take away points from her own House when necessary. Still, it warmed her heart when a first or second year would approach her — somewhat tentatively — and ask her a question, whether it was about school or simply asking advice on how to overcome homesickness.

Being a Prefect meant that Euphemia could only take points from her own House, but that didn’t stop her from handing out detentions whenever she deemed necessary. Some came from her catching students out past curfew, though most detentions she dished out were for Fleamont Potter. More often than not, Euphemia would find him out and about after dark or dueling in the corridors, much to her chagrin. 

One such evening, Euphemia was walking out of the Great Hall with Quinlan Price when she heard a group of yelling students in some nearby corridor. Frowning, Euphemia told Quinlan that she'd meet her back in the Common Room, before hurrying down the hall to the source of the noise.

When she arrived, Euphemia was not at all surprised to see Fleamont Potter battling it out with a Slytherin sixth year, clearly having the upper hand.

"Really, Potter?" she shouted, as the Gryffindor blasted the Slytherin boy into the wall. "What've I told you about dueling in the hallways? This is the third time—"

"Come off it, Summerbee!" snarled Fleamont Potter, not taking his eyes off his opponent.

Euphemia opened her mouth to yell at him to stop, when a shriek of "POTTER!" vibrated loudly through the corridor, and the Head Girl came storming over, eyes blazing and badge shining beside a gold lion.

Euphemia stepped aside to let Omelia Tuft through, and the Head Girl grabbed Fleamont Potter by the scruff, yanking him away from the Slyrherin. "This is the third time this week, Potter!" she screeched. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, and a month's detention!"

Fleamont Potter was struggling against Tuft's grip. "Oi, Melly! Let me go!"

"We're going to see the Headmaster!" Tuft all but snarled, not pausing in her stride. She snapped her fingers: "You — Summerbee! Report to Professor Slughorn immediately, and let him know his student was fighting in the hall!"

Euphemia nodded mutely, making eye contact with Fleamont Potter. He scowled at her, and she shrugged unapologetically, before turning her attention to the Slytherin boy, who was trying to walk away with his friends. 

"Hey!" she barked, marching over and grabbing his arm. "Don’t you walk away!"

"What?" the Slytherin sixth year sneered. “You going to tattle on me? I was merely defending myself."

Euphemia curled her lip. "Not very well," she snipped right back. "You were getting your arse beat by a fourteen year old."

"Watch it, Mudblood," the sixth year snarled, and Euphemia went stiff.

"I’m a pureblood, same as you," Euphemia said coldly. She recognized him now: Marcus Rosier, whose family was part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She let go of his arm in disgust. "Fine. Go back to your Common Room. I shall talk to Slughorn myself; he values my opinion more than yours anyway."

She ignored Rosier's laughter as she stalked towards Professor Slughorn's office. 

**1920**

"You're Head Girl?" Fleamont Potter burst out on the train to Hogwarts.

"Stop acting so surprised," Euphemia said smugly, patting him on the shoulder. "Obviously I'm the only one who can handle your tomfoolery these days." She grinned toothily. "I reckon I'm better than Omelia Tuft."

Fleamont Potter grumbled, "She always took me to the Headmaster instead of Dippet."

"That's because Dippet's three hundred years old," Euphemia said, ignoring the noise of protest the Gryffindor made, "and Headmaster Black can actually hand out reasonable punishments."

"Professor Dippet may be old, but he's brilliant," Fleamont Potter countered, "and there’s talk of him becoming headmaster after Black."

Euphemia hummed instead. "Even so, Potter. You don't want to get in trouble before we even make it to Hogwarts, now, do you?" Then she winked and left the compartment, laughing as the Gryffindor spluttered.

**1921**

He found her compartment five minutes before the train pulled up to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Fleamont Potter sat down across from Euphemia, and she shot a surprised look to Quinlan Price, who smirked back and hid her face behind a book. Euphemia huffed quietly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Euphemia asked Fleamont Potter, who was uncharacteristically shifting around in his seat. She raised her eyebrow at him.

He played with his hands, before handing her a piece of paper. Euphemia glanced at it curiously. It had an address on it. She looked at Fleamont Potter, eyebrow raised. "What's this for?"

"So you can write to me," he said, cheeks pink. "I mean, we're friends now, right?"

"Oh," Euphemia said, very quietly. She thought of the past year, of all the detentions she’d given him, all the help he’d given her with Potions, the occasional Hogsmeade trips together, all the Quidditch matches… Euphemia felt herself blush, looking away. "Yeah, I suppose that's right," she murmured.

Fleamont Potter looked hopeful. "So… you'll write to me then?"

The train slowed to a stop. Euphemia stood up, grabbing her trunk. "Of course," she said, and before her courage failed her, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "See you around, Potter."

Then she exited the train before she could witness Fleamont Potter's reaction. Quinlan Price strolled up next to her, wriggling her eyebrows.

"Oh, shut up," Euphemia muttered.

**1922**

_Effie,_

_I am pleased to announce that, once again, Gryffindor has won the House Cup! That's such a good way to end my last year at Hogwarts, I reckon. Not that you would know, having been in Ravenclaw and all._

_I passed (mostly) all of my N.E.W.T.s. All Exceeds Expectations except for Potions — that was an Outstanding, obviously, because I am a genius, and a Dreadful in History of Magic. But of course, no one cares about that class, it being such a bore and all. And don't give me that look — yes, I know you're giving me a look, Effie, I'm not stupid, we've known each other for seven years — so stop being so bloody Ravenclaw and let me complain about a class, alright?_

_Anyway, enough about me. How’s life in the Ministry? Going into law is so very you, you know. Say, next time you get a day off, let's meet somewhere and chat, yeah?_

_Yours,_

_Fleamont_

_P.S. Why must you insist on calling me Monty? Fleamont is bad enough._

*******

_Monty,_

_I'm choosing to ignore your comment on the House Cup, because Ravenclaw has won it three years in a row, if you recall. And I'll remind you that Gryffindor would've won more House Cups, had you not been dueling all the time._

_Congratulations on your N.E.W.T. marks! Although I have to say, I think you only got Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration because you kept owling me your homework for me to correct and asking me advice on the subject. So in all fairness, I believe that I'm the one who actually earned that grade (at least I got an Outstanding!)_

_I am ignoring your comment on History of Magic. Professor Binns is bland and has no personality, but it is an important subject. And I don't think you can call yourself a genius if you get a Dreadful on an O.W.L., even with your Outstanding in Potions._

_Thank you for enquiring about my work — I truly am loving it. I think working in law was always my calling. I get to help shape our world into a better place, and learn more about Muggles as well! They are making so many advancements in technology lately. My brother, who’s an Auror, said that there were so many new and dangerous weapons used in the Muggle War. It’s nice though, because I get to see him more often; I’ve always missed him terribly when I was at Hogwarts, though I’m not sure you’ve ever met him; he was in his seventh year when you were in your first._

_Lunch sounds lovely! It would be so nice to catch up face to face. I've got next Thursday off; we could meet at the Leaky Cauldron at noon._

_Love,_

_Euphemia_

_P.S. If you can call me Effie, then I’m going to call you Monty. It's only fair. Besides, in spite of what you think, Monty sounds so much better than Fleamont._

*******

_Euphemia,_

_First my parents, and now you. This is mutiny, I tell you. Mutiny!_

_I think I remember your brother. Tall bloke, Ravenclaw, right? Name was Eddison or Edward or something posh?_

_And yes, next Thursday sounds swell. I look forward to it._

_Yours,_

_Fleamont_

  
  


*******

_Monty,_

_Wonderful! I look forward to seeing you._

_My brother's name is Edward, though don’t ever call him that to his face, he hates it. You may be an exceptional duelist, but Eddy's got loads of experience and will flatten you like a beetle. But yes, he was in Ravenclaw with me._

_Love,_

_Euphemia_

**1924**

"I can't do it," Fleamont said, looking pale. "I can't."

Euphemia laughed, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. "Where's your Gryffindor courage?"

Fleamont shook his head, running his hand through his hair. Euphemia always thought his hair couldn't get any messier, but she was always being proved wrong. She pulled his hand down, giving it a squeeze.

"This is different," he said weakly. "I'm meeting your family!"

"Come now," Euphemia said. "You've already met my parents, and they adore you. And besides, it’s just dinner."

"Just dinner," Fleamont repeated. "But this time your brother will be there. I've never met him!"

Euphemia waved off his concern. "Oh, please. Eddy's a tad overprotective, it's true, but once he gets past that, I think you and him will get along swimmingly."

"You said he would end me if I ever looked at him," Fleamont accused.

"You're being so dramatic," Euphemia said, pushing him towards the door. 

Fleamont made a noncommittal noise.

Euphemia pulled him into her house.

(Just as predicted, after initial introductions, Eddy and Fleamont got along like a house on fire. Euphemia couldn't stop smiling).

**1927**

One evening late December, Euphemia was finishing up some work when she heard shouting from outside. She immediately placed her book down, pulling her wand out in one fluid motion. There was talk about Grindelwald slowly gaining power, causing small bursts of havoc around the world, and was getting bolder by the day. She knew Fleamont was a skilled duelist. He taught her things she'd never dreamed of. They were both capable, and both purebloods. They weren't targets. Still… it couldn't hurt to be vigilant.

Euphemia headed towards the door, her wand held in front of her, cautiously. The shouting grew closer, Euphemia was able to make out words. One word, specifically: her name.

"Effie! _Effie!"_

Fleamont came bursting through the front door, face alight and yelling himself hoarse. He was practically jumping up and down as he scooped Euphemia up, spinning her around, borderline hysterical. She dropped her wand in surprise.

"Fleamont?" Euphemia asked, when he put her down. "What is it? What's happened?"

"I finally did it!" Fleamont shouted. "Oh, Effie! Sleekeazy's been approved! It'll be on shelves tomorrow morning!"

All suspicions disappeared and Euphemia let out a shriek, throwing her arms around Fleamont's neck. "Monty! That's such wonderful news!"

They both laughed, and Fleamont spun her around again before kissing her on the lips, his fingers entwined in her hair and her legs wrapped around his waist. 

When they broke apart, Fleamont said breathlessly, "Marry me, Effie."

She stared into his eyes. "Come again?"

Fleamont looked adoringly at her. "Euphemia Summerbee," he said, placing some of her hair behind her ear, "will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? My lifelong partner?"

Euphemia felt her eyes water as she nodded enthusiastically, before pulling him into another kiss.

The threat of Grindelwald, for the time being, was forgotten (and so was her wand, lying carelessly on the floor).

**1928**

She was twenty-five and he was twenty-four when they got married one beautiful autumn day in September. It was a small ceremony, but Euphemia didn't care much. She was too busy dancing with her husband — _husband!_ — while their family stood, watching the newlyweds.

"My baby sister, all grown up!" She could hear Eddy saying to anyone who would listen.

Fleamont leaned in, whispering in her ear. "How long before he's asking about nieces and nephews?"

Euphemia smirked at him. "Excited, are you?" she asked coyly, tapping his nose.

"Can you blame me?" Fleamont said, kissing her neck. "I have such a beautiful wife; it'll be very hard to keep my hands off of you, now that we’re committed. I think I've restrained myself very well, considering."

Euphemia smacked him lightly. "You naughty, naughty, boy!" she said, but she was laughing.

"Mrs. Potter." Fleamont said.

"Mr. Potter," Euphemia grinned.

They kissed. People around them cheered, laughed, and whistled.

It was the best day of Euphemia's life.

**1930**

Euphemia sat on the couch, Fleamont rubbing her back in slow circles as she cried.

"It's alright, love," he whispered, but Euphemia could hear the sob in his voice as well. "It's alright. We'll try again when you're ready."

Euphemia sniffed, tears still falling freely down her face. "I want my mum."

Fleamont kissed her forehead softly, before standing up. "I'll go owl her now, yeah?" He summoned a blanket and wrapped it around his wife's shoulders. "And I'll make some hot chocolate, too. Everything will be alright, my love."

Euphemia just cried.

**1939**

Euphemia stared.

Then, "What do you mean, there's going to be a war?"

"Grindlewald's finally making a stand," Eddy said, sitting across from her. He took a swig of firewhiskey. "And that's not the only problem."

"What do you mean, then?" Fleamont asked quietly.

Eddy sighed. "I mean, it appears that the Muggles are headed for a world war."

"Another one?" Euphemia asked incredulously, sharing a look with Fleamont. "Do you think the Ministry will keep us from helping them?"

"I'm afraid so," Eddy said, a dark look on his face. "Statute of Secrecy and all that. It's all a load of rubbish, if you ask me. With Grindelwald getting stronger by the day, though, the Ministry's too busy to focus on what's going on in the Muggle world."

"Eddy?" Euphema asked.

"Muggle technology has increased immensely since the last war," Eddy said. "There are these things called bombs — basically the Reductor Curse, falling from aircraft. Germans are bound to be dropping them all over Britain and France, I’m sure."

"Muggles have made something that has effects similar to the Reductor Curse?" Fleamont wondered, alarm clear in his voice. 

"Place protective enchantments around your home," Eddy said seriously. "I've already told mum and dad, and to my colleagues and friends as well. You should do the same. And even though we're purebloods, Grindlewald might come after us, because we're not with him. Add that with bombs coming from the sky… well, you get the idea. I know you're both capable, but I want you two to be safe."

Euphemia nodded mutely. "Of — of course," she stammered, while Fleamont cursed under his breath. "But… that does mean you're going to help Dumbledore?"

Eddy nodded, his lips pursed in a thin line. Euphemia tried to ignore the tightening of her chest. Fleamont placed his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder gently in reassurance. None of them said anything for a few minutes, the realization that the future was looking rather stormy.

Then Eddy cleared his throat and awkwardly asked, "So… how's it going with… you know…?"

Euphemia glared at the table, tears threatening to spill down and splash onto the wooden surface. Fleamont squeezed her shoulder again in support.

"We've been taking fertilizing potions and the likes," she muttered. "And the few chances it does happen, we lose it." Eddy looked at her, eyes full of sadness. Euphemia felt anger pour over her. "I don't need your pity, Eddy!"

"Oh, Effie," her brother said. "It's not pity. You and Fleamont deserve to have a dozen little ones running around by now. I'm just angry that it hasn't happened yet. Have you tried adoption?"

"I don't want to adopt," Euphemia said angrily, and Fleamont nodded in agreement.

"One day," Fleamont said determinedly. "We will have a child one day. I'll be damned if we don't."

Euphemia felt a lump in her throat, but for the first time in a while, she felt happy and content, sitting in the Leaky Cauldron with her husband and brother.

**1944**

When Euphemia was forty-one, her mother passed away. Fleamont held her close, while Eddy stood in silence next to her father as her mother was placed into the ground. It was a cool morning when Euphemia had been woken up by her father’s owl. Even now, days after the funeral, and Euphemia could still read the letter, even after she'd burned it:

_Effie,_

_It hurts me that you have to find out this way, but your mother's passed. It seemed she went away in her sleep. I'm so sorry, my little Effie. Your mum loved you so very much._

_Your brother is already here at the house. We're to bury her tomorrow evening._

_Dad_

"It's so unfair," Euphemia murmured for the first time since the burial. She was laying in bed, with Fleamont stroking her hair.

"I know," he said.

"Mum will never get to meet our children," Euphemia continued, as if Fleamont hadn’t even spoken. "If we ever have children."

Fleamont kissed her temple. "I know."

**1956**

"You know, I was thinking," Fleamont said one day, as he and Euphemia were laying on the couch carelessly together. Euphemia lifted her head up from his chest, looking at her husband curiously. A slight grin was on her face.

"Oh?" she said, playing with his hair. "And what are you thinking, O Husband of Mine?"

"I'm thinking," Fleamont repeated, "that… I think it's time I sell the company."

Euphemia sat up fully, hair falling in her face. She stared at Fleamont in shock, her mouth and opening and closing, no words coming out. Finally, she uttered, "You… wait, you want…" she couldn’t even finish her sentence.

Fleamont stared back with an equally serious gaze. "We have more than enough money, Effie," he said softly. 'My family was already well off to begin with, and with the company… Well, we have more than enough money. We could live for hundreds of years and still have enough money."

"So, you want to just… quit?" Euphemia asked. "I don't understand. You love running the company."

Fleamont sighed. "I do. But I love experimenting more. And I haven't, in years. I want to experiment again, Effie. And the company will be in safe hands, I'll make sure of it. And we'll still get some of the profit. But I think it's time."

"But now?" Euphemia asked quietly. "Can't it wait a few years?"

Fleamont frowned. "Now doesn't seem like a good time? I — _we_ — have owned it for almost thirty-one years. Wouldn't it be nice to pass the torch?"

Euphemia stared at her hands. She was quiet for a while, before she murmured, "It would be a nice inheritance for our children."

"Effie…" Fleamont said, and she froze at his tone of voice.

_"_ _No,"_ she said forcefully. "Don't you even suggest that, Fleamont Potter. Don't you dare."

"It's been years, love," Fleamont whispered. "Maybe… maybe it's time we think about an alternative. If we can't… naturally, then… then maybe we can adopt."

"No," Euphemia mumbled. "No, no I…" She untangled herself from Fleamont, shakily moving away from the couch. "I… why do you want to adopt? You haven't before."

"We’re getting old, Effie," Fleamont said quietly. "Adoption might be the only way."

"No!" Euphemia wailed. She hurried away from the couch, ignoring Fleamont's calls.

**1959**

Euphemia couldn't stop throwing up. It was three in the morning, and she had been in the toilet for ten minutes. She Silenced the door, so she wouldn't wake up Fleanont for the sixth night in a row. 

Her queasy stomach lurched again, and Euphemia groaned, clutching it and heaving into the toilet. Merlin above, she felt awful. At first, she thought it was food poisoning, but after twenty-four hours and the sickness didn’t subside, Euphemia thought she'd caught the stomach flu. 

But having the stomach flu for nearly a week, in the middle of June? Something was clearly wrong.

Spitting bile into the toilet, Euphemia sat back and leaned against the wall. She sighed and folded her arms around her stomach, which was still churning unpleasantly.

The distinct possibility that she could be pregnant had crossed her mind, more than once. But she was fifty-six years old, and the fact that she could be with a child was very slim to none. She always hoped and prayed, but even Euphemia had come to terms with the fact that it wasn't going to happen, ever since that fateful conversation with Fleamont three years ago.

Still, there was a nagging voice in the back of her head, whispering things Euphemia didn't want to think about. 

Still, when her stomach finally calmed down and she made her way back to bed, Euphemia decided she would schedule an appointment with a mediwitch. 

Just in case.

*******

Euphemia couldn't believe her ears. 

"Wait, wait, wait," she said, interrupting the mediwitch mid-sentence. She stared, wide-eyed. "Are you sure? You're absolutely positive?"

The mediwitch smiled softly. "I'm sure, Mrs. Potter," she said, pointing to the screen. "See? That's your baby. It's too early to tell the gender of it though, but if you come back in six weeks, we'll definitely know by then."

Euphemia thought her face would split, she was smiling so hard.

*******

"Monty!" Euphemia all but screamed, coming through the door at breakneck speed. "Monty! Monty!"

A voice came filtered through the bedroom. "Effie? Love, what's the matter?" He came out, his hair even more disheveled then it usually was. He was drying his hands on his robes; he must've just finished using the loo.

Euphemia crashed into his body, flinging her arms around him. "I'm pregnant!"

Fleamont faltered. "W — what?"

"We're having a baby!" Euphemia shrieked. "Monty, it's happening, it's real, it's real, Monty, we're going to have a child!"

And Fleamont gripped her tightly and let out a shuddering breath. They both sunk to the floor, tears of happiness falling down both of their faces. 

**1960**

There was a screaming newborn in her arms.

Euphemia couldn't stop staring at him. Fleamont was beside her, his arms wrapped around her.

"We have a son," he whispered.

"He's beautiful," Euphemia cooed, gently rocking him back and forth, staring at her son in awe. Her heart felt like it was going to burst with euphoria. She was wonderstruck at this little bundle of blankets in her arms. Her son's face was pink and wrinkly and his little mouth was making the loudest, most beautiful noise Euphemia has ever heard. 

"He's perfect," Fleamont agreed, gently caressing their son's head with his finger. "He's absolutely perfect. Our little James."

"Our little James," Euphemia murmured.

Her little miracle.

**1961**

James was a loud, lively child. He rarely threw tantrums and was almost always smiling. Barely past a year old and he was already running around and grabbing anything within reach. Baby-proofing the house did virtually nothing. 

"You spoil him, Effie," said Mr. Summerbee, though he was looking at his grandson fondly. He beckoned Fleamont to hand over James, to which his son-in-law willingly obliged. The child squirmed in Mr. Summerbee’s arms. 

Euphemia brushed her fingers through James' hair. It was so much like Fleamont's, dark and unruly. "I'm allowed to indulge my son, Dad," she said. 

James yanked on Mr. Summerbee’s robes, yelling, "Ma, ma!"

"Grandfather," Mr. Summerbee grumbled, while Euphemia and Fleamont laughed.

"Ma!" James proclaimed, looking extremely proud of himself.

**1966**

When James was six years old, Fleamont came home one day with three tickets for the Quidditch World Cup. New Zealand was hosting, and Euphemia's favorite team, the Tutshill Tornados, were playing against the Australian team.

She and Fleamont had taken James to as many Quidditch games as they could. For the World Cup, Euphemia bought new apparel for James to wear. Her son was bouncing in excitement as he stripped to put on his new Tutshill Tornados robe.

"Monty, the camera!" Euphemia squealed. "Get it, get it!"

(The Tutshill Tornados ended up losing, and although Euphemia was disappointed, nothing warmed her heart more as when James declared, "Mummy, I'm gonna be the greatest Quidditch player _ever_ , just you wait and see!")

**1971**

"No, no, no — Mum!" James said, trying to push himself out of Euphemia's crushing hug. "Mum, let go!"

Fleamont chuckled good-naturally. "Let your mother have a moment, James," he said.

"Oh, my little Jamie, off to Hogwarts," Euphemia sniffed. "When did you get so old, huh?"

"Mum!" James groaned, finally escaping her embrace. He straightened out his new school robes, trying and failing to restrain his impatience to get on the train. His hair, once flattened out by Sleekeazy's, was now sticking up everywhere once more.

Euphemia smiled unabashedly. "Hand me the camera, Fleamont," she demanded, and her husband handed it to her without question. James' eyes widened and he made a move to run onto the train.

A light flashed.

_"Mum!"_

Euphemia threw her arms around James before he had the chance to do anything else. "Now, remember to owl me, young man, or I will send a Howler on your first day of classes."

"And don't forget to tell us what House you're Sorted into," Fleamont added. "Gryffindor's the best." He winked.

"He's wrong, but that's nothing new for a Gryffindor," Euphemia shot back. Fleamont shrugged.

"Mum, you're going to make me miss the train!"

*******

Fleamont was smiling smugly at her.

"Looks like the lions outnumber you, dear."

Euphemia threw her book at him.

**1973**

_Mr. and Mrs. Potter,_

_I was hoping I wouldn't have to be sending you a letter this early in the year, though I suppose I set my standards too high._

_James has managed to earn himself a month of detention. He and his friends thought it funny to set another student's robes on fire, while simultaneously setting off dung bombs in the Great Hall. I imagine he thought it to be a welcome-back-to-school gift. I can assure you, the staff thought it was anything but amusing._

_I've already warned James that any more funny business would be met with a more severe punishment. By which, I mean I will have him suspended from Gryffindor's Quidditch team until his behavior improves. I don't believe he thinks I'm serious. I very much am. I would hate to lose such a valuable player, but I will take drastic measures. If he continues to persist in making a fool of himself, I will personally see to it that he’ll be expelled. And that would be such a shame; James is a very talented student._

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Slowly, Euphemia folded the letter and placed it on the table, bowl of fruit forgotten.

"One week," she said to Fleamont, who was busy eating some sausages. "One week, and Minerva has already sent us a letter. Your son is out of control."

"Why is he always my son whenever he gets in trouble?" Fleamont grumbled.

"Because I never got detentions. You were the one who was always dueling in the hallways with everyone who poked fun of your name." Euphemia shot back. "Where do you think James got all his trouble-making from?"

"I seem to recall a certain someone Transfiguring Colleen Newbell into a toad because she scored one too many goals during a Quidditch match," Fleamont deadpanned.

Euphemia spluttered, face turning red. "That was _one_ time!"

"Still happened." Fleamont sipped some coffee. 

Euphemia crossed her arms. "Well, at least James is getting decent grades. In Transfiguration and Charms. You'd think that, as a Potions prodigy, you would give more tips to your son."

Fleamont scowled. "Just because James didn't get an Exceeds Expectations on his Potions final doesn't mean he's abysmal at Potions."

Euphemia gave him a look, and Fleamont caved. "Alright, alright, I'll try to give James some pointers."

Euphemia raised her eyebrows, not breaking eye contact.

"Merlin's beard, Effie, he's _thirteen years old,_ he's not going to listen to _me."_

"He listens to me," Euphemia said, a hint of smugness in her voice.

"Oh yeah?" Fleamont challenged. "Is that why he's always landing himself in detention, then?"

"Again, you were the one who was _always in detention!"_

Both of them stayed silent for a few minutes, the only sound being an occasional chirp of birds outside.

Then, very quietly, Fleamont asked, "… Should we just let Minerva deal with him?"

Euphemia shrugged. "I'll give James the benefit of the doubt."

"You did that last year, dear," Fleamont pointed out.

Euphemia sighed and Summoned a quill and parchment. "I'll write James and tell him to focus on his studies."

A month and a half passed before another letter from Minerva arrived, an owl flying through their bedroom window just as the sun was setting. 

"I guess James _doesn't_ listen to you," Fleamont said, after they read the letter.

Euphemia kicked him, and ignoring her husband's grumbles, pulled the blankets over her head and buried her face in her pillow.

**1976**

James came home in a foul mood. Euphemia could tell the moment her son got off the Hogwarts Express. His brows were furrowed and his mouth was in a tight line. The strangest part, however, was the absence of Sirius. It was always a challenge to get James home, as he never wanted to separate from his friends during the summer holidays — especially Sirius.

Euphemia and Fleamont were a bit concerned when James first wrote to them about Sirius. The Blacks were an old, prodigious family that Euphemia did not want her son to be associated with. Fortunately, James very quickly proved that Sirius Black was nothing like his family. The two of them were thicker than thieves. Euphemia didn’t know how many letters she’d gotten from Minerva McGonagall about her son and his friend's behavior. Too many, that's for sure.

When James caught sight of her, he scowled and stalked over to her. Euphemia raised her eyebrow at him, giving him a questioning look. 

"I don't want to talk about it," James snapped, before she could say anything. She looked up and caught Remus Lupin's eye. The boy in question shrugged apologetically.

"Have a nice summer, Mrs. Potter," Remus said, before making his way to his parents.

James, very childishly, tugged on Euphemia's arm. "Mum, let’s _go."_

Euphemia stared at him in shock. To her horror, James' eyes were red-rimmed and shiny. She reached out to grasp his shoulder, but James moved away, crossing his arms self-consciously. Euphemia frowned, concerned. "… James?"

"Please, Mum." James' voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "Please. I just want to go home."

"Okay," Euphemia nodded. "Okay, sweetheart." 

She offered her arm, and the next second, the two Apperated.

*******

Two weeks later James was still sullen. Euphemia was pacing around the parlor, while Fleamont was sitting on the couch, reading the _Daily Prophet_. It was raining lightly outside, a half moon hidden partially behind the clouds.

"I just don't know what's going on with him." Euphemia said. "James has never acted like this before."

Fleamont sighed and placed his copy of the _Prophet_ down. "Effie, James is a teenage boy. We have mood swings too."

Euphemia spun around to face him. "This is different!"

"How so?"

Euphemia sighed, rubbing her head and sitting next to her husband. "I don't know," she muttered. "But there's something bothering him. I know my boy. There's something going on."

Fleamont patted her knee. "I think this is something James needs to work on his own. If or when he's ready to tell us, he will."

The couple sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain hit the roof. Euphemia rested her head on Fleamont's chest, doing her best to not worry about what her son was possibly going through. James always used to tell her what was going on. Nowadays, however… 

She supposed Fleamont was right. Euphemia remembered when she was a teenager, and there were times where she didn't go to her mother or her father, or even Eddy. She supposed it was the same for Fleamont. 

There was a sudden pounding at the door, causing the two of them to jump off the couch. Fleamont immediately pulled out his wand, Euphemia doing the same motion not two seconds later. 

"Effie, behind me," Fleamont ordered, as the knocking sounded again. This time it seemed louder and more urgent. 

"Who do you think it is?" Euphemia whispered, her eyes glancing from window to window. "It's not… _him_ , is it?"

"No, Voldemort wouldn't knock, nor would his cronies," Fleamont muttered. His lips were moving fast, incanting spells under his breath. After a moment, he lowered his wand slightly. "Spells indicate the person on the other side is friendly." He jerked his head at the front door.

Euphemia waved her wand silently, and there was a _click_ as the door swung open. She nearly dropped her wand in surprise.

Standing on the other side of the door, pale and wet and shaking, was Sirius.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed, moving forward to pull the boy into the house. Fleamont was just two steps behind, saying, "Son, what happened?"

There was thudding of someone running down the stairs, and James skidded into the hallway, hair rumpled and in pajamas. "Mum, Dad, what's that — _Sirius?"_

James looked bewildered at the sight of his parents standing on either side of Sirius, holding him upright.

"Prongs…" Sirius' voice was quiet. There was a slight quiver to it. "I… I'm _so_ sorry, I…"

James' expression — one that held barely contained anger — changed instantly into one of concern and regret. He crossed the room in three strides, coming nose-to-nose with Sirius. "None of that matters now. What happened, Pads?"

Sirius' eyes were shining. "I couldn't stay in that house any longer." He took a deep, shaky breath. "And I didn't know where else to go."

Euphemia and Fleamont shared a look. James didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he slowly embraced Sirius, holding him tightly.

"It's okay," James said. "You belong here with us anyway." He glanced at Fleamont, eyes wide and pleading. 

Fleamont smiled slightly, nodding his head. "That’s right, son."

Euphemia stepped away, already heading towards the kitchen. "Monty, get those boys on the couch, and find Sirius an extra set of clothes. I'm going to make some tea."

**1977**

At the turn of the new year, it was snowing. Big, white flakes floated down from the grey sky. It gave off a sense of tranquility, something Euphemia was immensely grateful for.

Since James decided to spend the winter holidays at Hogwarts, Fleamont suggested the two of them visit Eddy. Her brother has been extremely busy with work the past couple years. He was supposed to retire and choose a new Head of Department, but with Death Eaters and fellow synthesizers multiplying by the day, Eddy had postponed his stepping down as Head Auror, not knowing who he should trust. The only time Eddy had taken off recently — and the last time Euphemia had seen him — was at their father's funeral a couple months prior. 

However, when the two Apperated to Eddy's small cottage, the one Euphemia grew up in, all they could see was smoke. The Dark Mark in all its glory, above the house. Euphemia’s hand flew to her mouth. _"E_ _ddy — !"_

Fleamont gripped her hand tightly, muttering under his breath. A second later, his Patronus was gliding away. Then, he held her tight.

"He was brave," he kept saying in her ear, as Aurors surrounded the house. "See? He managed to take two bastards down. As far as he was concerned, that's two less that could harm you and me and James."

Fleamont was right, but that didn't stop Euphemia from crumbling into his arms, crying silently.

*******

After Eddy’s death, time went by slowly. Euphemia celebrated her seventy-fourth birthday, and a few months later, Fleamont celebrated his seventy-third, just days before James and Sirius were to come home. Smiles were few and far in between, but once her two boys were home, Euphemia felt herself smiling more. She could tell this relieved Fleamont greatly, and later that night as the two laid in bed, she mentioned this to him. Fleamont nuzzled his face into her neck.

"You mean the world to me," he murmured. "I hate seeing you sad."

But the first time Euphemia laughed — truly laughed — was in early August, when James got his final Hogwarts letter and a Head Boy badge fell out. Sirius nearly fell out of his chair, bellowing with laughter, while James' face flushed red with embarrassment.

"Evans is going to have a heart attack," Sirius chortled, causing James to go even redder.

"Evans?" Fleamont said. "The girl you always talk about in your letters?"

James looked utterly mortified as Sirius howled. Euphemia couldn't help but let out a chuckle at her son's distress. She shared a look with Fleamont, who grinned in a way that took her back to their Hogwarts days, where they were young and Fleamont sent her cocky winks whenever she gave him detention. 

For the first time since her brother’s death, Euphemia felt whole.

*******

If there was one thing that James liked to do, it was surprise her. Euphemia was getting dinner on the table and Fleamont was cleaning the pots and pans when she heard the door open and a call of, "I'm home!" echoed through the house.

Euphemia set down the pot of chicken on the table hastily, before running out to greet her son, only to halt suddenly when she saw a pretty redhead holding hands with James. Her eyes, a startling shade of green, were moving around, taking in the sights of the house.

"—didn’t expect it to be so big." She was speaking softly. And James, Euphemia, was looking at the girl with adoring eyes. He was in complete awe with this young woman. He didn't even seem to notice Euphemia watching them, but then the girl turned. Her eyes widened and she jerked back a bit. "Oh, Mrs. Potter!"

James' head snapped up, and he gave Euphemia a charming smile. "Hello, Mum! Supper smells delightful."

Euphemia blinked, unsure of what to say.

The redhead elbowed James in the ribs. "James Potter, you told me your parents knew I was coming!"

James shrugged unapologetically. "What can I say? I like surprises."

The girl shoved him, but she was grinning. "You're such a child."

James did not help this statement by pouting. "You love me."

The girl rolled her eyes, smiling and shaking her head. "Unfortunately." She let go of James' hand and moved with a certain grace to Euphemia, holding out her hand. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Potter. I'm Lily Evans."

Euphemia took the girl’s hand. "A pleasure, Lily."

"I really did think that James told you I was coming," Lily said, cheeks slightly pink. "I don't mean to intrude on your holiday."

"It's no problem at all, dear," Euphemia said. She looked over at James, and smirked at him. Turning back to Lily, she said, "I really am very glad to meet you. James writes all about you."

Both women ignored James' splutters. "All good things, I should hope," Lily commented, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Euphemia nodded, and said somewhat seriously, "I'm glad someone can discipline my son when I'm not around."

And Lily laughed, as James cried out, _"Mum!"_

At that moment, Fleamont appeared, hands on his hips. "What, no hug for your father?"

"Monty!" Euphemia said, before James could speak. She steered Lily toward her husband. "Look at who James brought for the holidays — Lily Evans!"

Fleamont stared for a second, before asking James, "This is the girl you're always talking about?"

James buried his face in his hands, while Lily giggled, shaking hands with Fleamont. 

**1978**

Euphemia was crying. 

"Really, Effie," Fleamont said, sounding torn between amusement and exasperation. "Tears?"

"They're happy tears," Euphemia mumbled, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Her eyes were glued on her son and his new bride, both of whom were dancing and in each other's world. "Our little Jamie, married. He's grown up so fast!"

Fleamont nodded silently, content on watching the newlyweds. 

Indeed, it seemed like only yesterday that James was learning to walk and talk, though now he was eighteen, taller than Fleamont, and very much in love. Her son's attention was fully focused on the pretty redhead he was dancing with. Euphemia felt a ping of jealousy and sadness, for she knew that she was no longer the only woman in James' life. Her baby boy really was all grown up.

"I still think he's a bit young to be getting married," Fleamont said.

"With everything that's going on in the world right now, it's perfectly understandable." Euphemia whispered back. "And it's never too early to marry your soulmate."

Fleamont flashed her a grin. "Then why did it take so long for me to marry you?"

Euphemia chuckled. "Some people make mistakes."

Fleamont clutched his heart in mock pain. "You wound me."

James was now standing beside Remus and Peter as Sirius took his turn dancing with Lily. The five of them were laughing, focusing on the here and now. This comforted Euphemia immensely as she knew what their future would entail and the challenges her son would face. But for now, he was happy, so she was content.

"Remember our wedding day?" Fleamont said suddenly.

Euphemia nodded. "It was one of the happiest days of my life."

Sirius finished dancing with Lily, and James took no time to take back his bride, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her.

Fleamont pulled Euphemia next to him. "Every minute I get to spend with you, I get even happier."

**1979**

The minute she got sick, Euphemia knew her time was near. She was old (though some wizards would insist that she wasn't, because for their kind, seventy-six could still be considered young). It was weird though — Euphemia didn’t feel old.

It had started in late November. Her throat was dry and her muscles ached all over. It hurt to breathe, and rashes began to appear on her skin. One minute she was reading, and the next she was lying on the cold stone floor, staring up at a worried Fleamont.

Not wanting to take any chances, Fleamont rushed her to St. Mungo's, where a diagnosis was given.

Dragon pox.

This wasn't the deadliest disease in the world, but with how old Euphemia was, there was more of a chance that she wouldn’t make it; her body wasn't young and it would be harder to fight off the illness.

The healers took Fleamont aside — they had to test him for the pox as well, since he'd been exposed. Her heart sank when he came back tested positive. He looked at her, and she at him, and they both just knew.

Euphemia requested that their beds be next to each other, and when they were alone, she wept. "Who's going to look after James?"

Her husband coughed. "He's got Lily, love. And Sirius and Remus and Peter. He's a strong lad. He has them, and he'll get through this."

Euphemia desperately wanted to hold Fleamont’s hand, to snuggle up close to him and feel his heartbeat and smell the dust in his hair. She sniffled. "I don't want to say goodbye to my baby," she whispered brokenly. "Monty, I don't want to leave him."

Fleamont’s eyes were wet. "I know, love," he whispered back. "I don't want to leave him, either."

The weeks after that blurred together. With each day, Euphemia became a little less lucid. She felt like her whole body was on fire, and she felt so, so itchy. James visited every day, with Sirius or Lily accompanying him. He would hold his parents hands, telling them stories about his life with Lily. Euphemia could tell he was trying to be strong, and it broke her heart whenever she heard James' voice crack.

One time, in a moment of clarity, Euphemia called out for Fleamont, only to receive silence as an answer. Euphemia flew into a panic.

"Monty, Monty," she sobbed, and a hand grabbed hers, squeezing it. James’ face swam into view, his cheeks wet.

"He's with Uncle Eddy now, Mum," he said.

"Eddy?" Euphemia murmured, confused. "Eddy's here too?"

The next time she was lucid, Euphemia was so weak she could barely lift her head. James soothed her, saying, "Don't move, Mum."

Lily was sitting next to him, eyes red and puffy. Euphemia reached for her, and she took her hand.

"Watch over him," Euphemia begged.

Lily nodded, "Of course, Mrs. Potter. Always."

"Oh Jamie," Euphemia sighed. With her other hand, she reached out to cup James' face. He leaned into her touch, his face wet.

"I'm here," he said.

"Oh Jamie," Euphemia repeated. "You're my little miracle."

James nodded. "I know, Mum. I know."

Euphemia nodded, closing her eyes. "My little miracle."

There was a gentle squeeze of her hand. There was some buzzing in her ears. Voices sounded too far away, but Euphemia was too tired to try and make out what was being said.

Soon, she'd be with her mother, her father, Eddy, Fleamont, and all her other friends that had passed. She was leaving behind a son and a daughter, but they were young and would live a full, long life. The thought made Euphemia happy. 

So she took her last breath, and drifted.

*******

**Author's Note:**

> i basically took what little we know about james potter's parents and just ran with it. and by ran, i mean 31 pages. oops.
> 
> i’m now on [tumblr](https://indigostars.tumblr.com/) so feel free to come say hi :)


End file.
